


Mesmerized

by SophiaBoo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaBoo/pseuds/SophiaBoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has been living with Sherlock Holmes for almost a year now. He admires his friend as he is the world's only Consulting Detective, the smartest man he's ever known. But what if what he feels goes beyond admiration?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Johnlock fic ever! Started as a One-Shot and then started to develop a bit.  
> I took my liberties with the famous Three Garridebs case, so it won't be entirely like ACD wrote it (apart from the Johnlock bits, of course). Any other notes I'll be leaving them as the chapters go through, but these are my main thoughts right here :) As everyone says: comment, share, subscribe, bookmark, leave kudos and all that; I'll be very grateful especially comment-wise as I would like to improve with time, of course! So feel free to suggest things. Thanks a lot for reading! :)

"Close the door", Sherlock said, eyes fixed on the dusty wardrobe. I did what I had become so used to in the last couple of months: as he told me. "John, look at this." Again, I obeyed.  
But I could see nothing.  
"And what am I supposed to see, exactly?"  
"What do you see?", he asked me, still hypnotized by the piece of furniture in front of us.  
"Umm, a wardrobe."  
"Very good," Sherlock said with a contemptuous tone. "What else?"  
I sighed.  
"Well, it’s… dusty."  
"Yes…"  
"Very. The entire room, actually, is very dirty."  
"Correct…" He now looked at me and I suddenly realized.  
"But not the floor here!"  
"Exactly!" He clapped his hands once and proceeded to knock the wardrobe door a couple times.  
I snorted.  
"Anybody home?"  
"Shh…"  
"Sorry."  
I took a closer look at the floor. There were some random spots… They looked like…  
"Is that blood?" I asked, frowning.  
"Certainly."  
I blinked twice before I added:  
"Human blood?"  
"More likely, yes."  
I started connecting some inner cables.  
"D’you think the stiff…? Well…" I cleared my throat a bit. "Do you think there's a dead body in there?" I pointed my finger to the old wardrobe in disbelief. The man had died a week ago. Miles away.  
"Apparently." He kept knocking.  
"And how can you possibly know that?"  
"Well, he hasn’t replied, has he?"  
"But…"  
"Let’s find out", he smiled.  
Sherlock placed his hand on the door handle, took quick a peek at me, then turned it to the right very slowly and opened. He moved backwards as the poor man’s body fell straight to the wooden floor making a loud noise. It was definitely him.  
"Well...", my friend said, coldly. "That was plenty of noise to bring Lestrade and his people here in a heartbeat… which for them, of course, would be in about…"  
"Two minutes?" I suggested.  
"Enough time for me." He smiled again.  
He bent down next to the body and began doing what he did so well.  
I was rather used to watching him use his extraordinary abilities but that didn’t mean I’d ceased to consider them amazing and stunning. Even more so, as time had gone by, I had grown more and more obsessed with the rare creature he was. So I never missed a chance to be a spectator, to observe as his hands moved rapidly left to right, up and down, covering everything, noticing everything. Also the way his eyes widened as he learned new things and the way his lips curved in a mischievous smile as, I was most certainly sure, he confirmed something he was suspecting to be true all along.  
He looked rather happy, I thought. No, it wasn’t happiness. It was something else, but definitely something new.  
Then I wondered: was there any human thing left for me to see from Sherlock apart from romantic demonstrations of affection and maybe, I don’t know, hysterical laughter? Was it possible there was something else? I couldn’t figure it out at that moment, but he looked kind of beautiful wearing that expression on his face.  
Beautiful? That was without a doubt something new! Sherlock, my best friend, the Consulting Detective, beautiful? I’d never used that word to describe him, ever, not even in my mind. Not that he wasn’t, thinking about it, but I had never entertained that possibility before…  
His hands were still moving along Bobby Elliott’s body with extreme coldness. His hands. His pale thin hands. Those long fingers that sometimes ran through his hair while his mind seemed to disappear into his thoughts. I decided then that I liked his hands.  
His dark hair was a mess that day, more than any other I remembered. Its curls bouncing funnily with Sherlock’s every move. I liked his hair too.  
His eyes were… Well, they changed with the weather and also with his mood. That was mesmerizing, unquestionably. One example of that phenomenon was The Aluminum Crutch case. I wasn’t actually there during the resolution as I was on a date with Sarah but Sherlock had left me a couple of voicemail messages explaining the whole thing. See, when I came back to the flat, he was already there, lying on the couch and pretending to be asleep. Of course he wasn’t, he rarely even sleeps. But he thought I was Mrs Hudson so he did that not to be disturbed as he went back through all the data and verified it.  
"Did you really mistake me for our old landlady? You?" I asked him. He quickly opened his eyes, confused.  
"I… suppose I did…" His voice soft, eyes going up and down on me.  
"So you’re telling me I now have the walking pace of a granny?"  
"I’m not, John, but that would be a perfect explanation, very good." I remember he smiled as he got up, came closer to me and petted my head. I growled and then looked into his eyes: they were something very close to purple.  
So yeah, I absolutely loved his eyes as well.  
And his voice, oh, that howling low sound that sometimes went inaudible reaching the end of the sentences. I was not to deny that was almost my favorite feature. He was able to make me do almost anything by just speaking, just saying so. And watching those fleshy lips articulating said words surely helped a lot. Or maybe it didn’t, as he rarely asked for common doable favors.  
I found myself touching my own lips as I stared at his and decided that wasn’t okay. That was utterly, completely, extremely not good. He was my best friend, and he was a male! But I couldn’t help it, could I? Sherlock Holmes, the brainy bloke who was now kneeling in front of me, whose red fleshy lips were murmuring God-knows-what as his long pale fingers ran through his perfect dark curls, whose currently green eyes were fixed on Bobby’s naked toes… He was—  
"Fascinating."  
Sherlock raised his head and looked up at me with that confused face of his. That one I liked so much…  
"John?"  
"Sorry, done it again."  
He looked at a random point to his right.  
"But I didn’t say anything yet."  
" _Oh_ …"  
"Unless you read my mind, which in any case would be impossible, of course." He said that very quickly. He could speak very, very fast. And I liked that too.  
"Maybe I…" I coughed. "Well, maybe after all the time I’ve spent with you I… can actually read your mind…" Sherlock seemed suspicious. I hurriedly explained myself. "Meaning, I know your methods and, therefore, I know what you may be seeing." Awkward pause. "Does that make any sense to you?"  
"Actually, no. But no time for that right now. We’ll discuss that later, if you don’t mind."  
"Umm, sure." Cough.  
Sherlock took a peek at the closed door and then went back to his work. He probably was calculating how much more time he had left until a bunch of insufferable policemen entered the room and annoyed him with their bare presence.  
I couldn’t afford to start thinking about him again, so I said:  
"Anything?"  
He looked at me again. I couldn’t help but notice his eyes were blue now. Absolutely beautiful.  
"Well…"  
"Sorry, but since saying things out loud helps you think, I thought…"  
"Sure. Why not? Err…"  
He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple go down and up again. Then he took a deep breath and all that helped me go into a hypnotic state for a second or two. I shook my head and cleared my throat like I tend to do when I’m tense.  
"So, what do we have here?"  
"Bobby Elliott, as you may already know. Early forties, living on his own for a while now, didn’t do any kind of sports (as you may have noticed, going by the state of his backside). Last Saturday morning, Mr Elliott…"  
Sorry, folks, my brain went offline after hearing him use the word _backside_. I just stood there like a moron, watching his lips working as he told me everything he knew. Or at least that’s what he always made it look like. I was getting used to then learn he was hiding something from me. But I didn’t mind. That mystery thing about him drove me out of my mind, too.  
"Not again! Oh, sorry!" I blushed as I went back to reality.  
"Yeah, I know, we’re being forced to see Anderson’s stupid face again." He was smiling, though.  
"Sorry, what?"  
"His walking pace is unmistakable. You were right; you’re getting rather good at this!"  
"Oh…" I blushed even more.  
"You’ll now tell Lestrade everything I just told you. There isn’t any time to waste on the police now. There’s a murderer to catch, John!"  
"What? Where is he? Sherlock!"  
My friend took off like a thunder. He opened the door I had closed only five minutes before and got out of the room. And there they were; Lestrade, Anderson and two more Scotland Yarders were about to come in just by the time Sherlock walked past them at the speed of light. He was good at running.  
"Sherlock? Oi! Where are you going? What was that noise?" Lestrade wasn’t even finished asking these questions before the tall man went outside the old house and started chasing a short fat fellow across the front garden, as I saw through the window.  
"He’ll be needing help!" I announced and that’s when Lestrade finally brought his attention to me and the stiff lying to my side. "Oh, and I didn’t kill him, by the way."  
"Are you serious?!", the Detective Inspector shouted. "Bobby Elliott was here, then!"  
"Yes, and dead. Are you actually surprised Sherlock was right?" I inquired as I ran past them just like Sherlock had done seconds ago.  
"But…"  
"I’ll explain later!" And I ran down the stairs, two or three steps at a time.  
The front garden was immense. Maybe too much for that old crappy house. The grass was left to luck and it had grown enough to reach my knees, which made my running quite difficult. I could see Sherlock about thirty feet away from where I was and the so called murderer fleeing from him but not for too long. Sherlock was close. So close.  
He didn’t have a gun. I held mine tight into my left pocket. I’d done this before. I’d killed a man for Sherlock. It wasn’t that hard. But I had to wait for the right moment.  
"Stop running!" I heard Sherlock shout to the man. "Do you really want to die like that? Because your body won’t handle this much lo—"  
The short fat man turned around and faced my friend with crazy wild eyes. He looked insane; he was in fact about to cry.  
I suddenly knew how it was going to end, so I ran as fast as I could and reached them as the man pulled out a gun and pointed it to Sherlock’s forehead. I held my breath.  
He didn’t want to kill him, he didn’t want to kill anyone but Bobby Elliott, but he had no choice. He didn’t want to go to prison. I could almost read all this from his mind.  
Sherlock looked calmed. Maybe he had read something different in him, I thought.  
My heart was racing and my hands, shaking. I would not be able to pull out my own gun and shoot the man before he shot my friend. And there was no second attempt.  
There had to be something I could do, but I couldn’t think at all, not with Sherlock so close to dying. I was just standing there, eight feet away from him, staring at the scene, unable to act.  
Then the man spoke:  
"I thought he was my friend. I—I thought he cared about me. B—but he didn’t. Turns out he didn’t, HE BETRAYED ME!! SO I KILLED HIM. HE LET ME DOWN AND I KILLED HIM." His eyes widened scarily and I could almost see the blood running in the veins of his forehead. He was red with hatred and fear. "Now we’re even…"  
A sigh. Did Sherlock actually sigh?  
I couldn’t even blink before he turned around, grabbed my free hand and pulled me closer. Then, my whole world turned to pieces. Sherlock was kissing me. My legs felt like jelly and my heart skipped a beat. His lips were pressed against mine the same way my left hand was holding the gun in my pocket: tightly, firmly, and knowingly. A sucking noise escaped somewhere between our lips and a soft growl came out of Sherlock’s throat right before we heard a shot. Sherlock let me go leaving his face only a few inches from mine, and then I forgot how to breathe properly.  
"Nope. Now you’re even... sort of..." Lestrade had shot the man in the shoulder. Enough to make him go unconscious. "Distraction, Sherlock, very good indeed! Risky but effective! You should have seen his face. You almost got me too!"  
"Oh, my God! I told you he was gay!" Anderson said with disgust somewhere at my right. Lestrade paid no mind.  
"Okay, now, would you mind telling me what really went on? Sherlock? Sherlock?"  
But Sherlock wasn’t listening. Or at least he didn’t reply. He appeared to only have eyes for me. And I only had eyes for him, as usual.  
When I finally remembered how to speak, I said, shocked:  
"Sher… What the hell?"  
That came out in such a high pitch I thought only bats would hear me, but he replied:  
"I’m—I’m very sorry, John."  
His eyes displayed a hint of sadness, something I decided was far from okay.  
"Oh, don’t be! I mean… You had to, for the case… All for the case…"  
My friend seemed to cheer up.  
"Absolutely. For the case." He smiled widely.  
I looked deep into his eyes, which were almost purple again. Then I decided purple was my new favorite colour.


	2. Chapter 2

I took a deep breath.  
"It was nothing..." I kept repeating myself, looking out my bedroom window. "Nothing."  
The moon was shining so bright it hurt my eyes. I looked down and there he was, looking back at me with those piercing eyes. Possibly deducing that I hadn’t slept in two fucking days, that Harry had been dating a new girl and surely so many other things even not even _I_ knew about my own life.  
But it wasn’t really him; it was his photograph on the front page of an old newspaper. The title was “HE DOES IT AGAIN” and the look on his face was simply priceless. That look I knew so well meant the exact opposite thing he was trying to reflect (actually I don’t think he was trying at all). That fake smile was probably never going to fail to make _me_ smile.  
Since he had made a name for himself about a year before, I had been buying every single newspaper my friend’s face has ever been on; against his will, of course. And I liked this one in particular, so it was the chosen one. The one I had taken out of the blue box, where I kept all of them, and the one I had been staring at all night.  
Please, don’t take me wrong… Or actually, you know what? Fucking do as you please. I didn’t even feel sleepy that night. I couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about him, the Consulting Detective, the wisest man I’d ever known, the most arrogant and childish of men. My flat mate. My best friend. With all those features that made me like him so much. I found myself fascinated by him in every way, by his every word and move. It was very hard for me to keep my cool around him now. There was a specific thing that made me go into this process of realization; a moment that I’ll probably never forget (and in those days I couldn’t really think of anything else). It was the day he kissed me a month before. Holy Moses, does time fly! We were on a case, and he kissed me. On the mouth. Sherlock Holmes. I felt so overwhelmed I didn’t sleep for a few days after that. And now it had started again.  
He had left the flat to go on a case. He had told me not to come, that he needed me at Baker Street. The reason? I could’t quite remember. I didn’t care much at the time, either. All I could think about was… Yes, you probably got it right.  
_Damn._  
I had been staring at his face all night; that was the most I could do. There were no other pictures in the house, except, perhaps, the one he had in his room of him and his older brother, Mycroft, as ridiculously cute toddlers. So newspapers were the only way I had to see his face. After the first hour I felt stupid, though.  
_God, if you just knew what I’m doing!_ What I was doing to myself…  
"It was nothing..." I said for the third time that night.  
_It’s all for the case_ , he had said. Of course it was. He couldn’t feel the same way I did, he just couldn’t. He didn’t see things that way. He was not able to fall in love, and therefore being so in love with him made me a very sad person. It was starting to hurt so much I sometimes had to walk away from him, even as he was talking to me. I began to wonder if he could be starting to notice. Most likely he was. Most likely he knew. I was so… obvious. He knew about Molly Hooper and Irene Adler. The two of them loved him very much and he was very aware of it. But not only did he not love any of them back, he even nearly mocked the latter for it.  
But… I was his best friend. The only one he had, his words. Did that make me… special? No. It was romantic love we were talking about. Unacceptable. He had told me once that he was married to his work, that was all to him. That time he thought I was asking him out, ha. I wasn’t, of course, but he thought I was. Now that I had proper feelings for him it seemed impossible that he hadn’t noticed it yet. And also, he then said he wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship… Was it possible he had changed his mind?  
"STOP IT!" I shouted. I was developing the need to talk to myself. I couldn’t keep it all inside. That had me worried about whether I would shout an _I LOVE YOU, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE_ to him someday. Dear Lord…  
I sighed. It was not going good. I needed to get it out sooner or later. It was probably going to end badly, in fact I was ready to pack and leave any time, whether I told him or not. The only nice ending was that he somehow loved me back, which was impossible from the get go. Then I had three bad endings: one, he accepts it but doesn’t share feelings; two, he doesn’t accept it; and three, me never telling him.  
My mind was a mess. I just couldn’t cope. I had to make a decision.  
My mobile phone started ringing. I ran across the flat to pick it up.  
It was him.  
I coughed like three times before pressing the green button.  
"Sherlock."  
"John."  
That was all. I panicked.  
"You okay?!" My voice sounded so pitchy I had to clear my throat with a masculine-like tone.  
"I’m fine. What about you?"  
That was clearly news to me. Not like he didn’t care about my well-being, but hearing him ask in a casual conversation was a surprise. A beautiful one.  
"Yes! Yes, I-I’m fine. Very good." I said smiling.  
"You do seem happy. Is there any news I need to hear about?" His voice was so soft I stopped worrying.  
"Umm, no. I’m just--"  
SAY IT.  
"I… You know."  
SAY IT.  
"I was watching a funny show on the telly. The kind of you would never watch, of course."  
YOU FREAKING WIMP.  
"That’s no news, John."  
"I know. So many jokes you wouldn’t get!"  
"Please…" he mocked.  
The thing went silent, so I rapidly directed the conversation to something he could be interested about.  
"Listen, um. There’s this case on the news… About those three brothers. Garrideb or something."  
"Oh!" He did seem interested.  
"They stated the whole thing this morning, but there’s something that is not quite clear to me."  
"That’s definitely not news...", he said. He sounded like he was smiling. His voice purred against my ear and a chill went down my spine. I needed him to be there with me. But then, it would be just so hard for me. No. I needed him away until I could make up my mind.  
"Ha, ha. Very funny, indeed!"  
"What was it, then? I mean, I don’t even know the facts at all, only that the three brothers are missing—"  
"How…?"  
He continued:  
"But I think I might be able to figure it out for you if it’s a matter of common sense."  
"Um, yeah, well… It isn’t. We’ll discuss it when you come back…"  
I was hoping he could provide an answer to the question I had not asked but he just said:  
"Yes, that’s for the best. Give my regards to Mrs Hudson."  
I sighed very loudly and said, still with the mobile phone on my ear:  
"I wish you came back, Sherlock."  
"I’ll be there soon enough."  
I jumped sky high. Great, I'd said that out loud.  
"I mean… I mean… You can’t imagine how many times Mycroft has phoned me to know about you. It’s insane, Sherlock. He’s driving me mad."  
"Same old, same old. Why be upset about it?"  
"Well, you’re not answering your phone so it’s not like you stand him more than I do."  
"I’m on a case, John."  
"I know, I know. It’s just…" I sighed again.  
"You’re tired." He wasn’t asking.  
"You just don’t know how much."  
"I probably do."  
"Of course you do." I smiled widely. "Go on, then, surprise me."  
"Is there really still a way of doing that?"  
"Oh, I’m sure there is..." More smiling. Was I flirting with him now?  
"Then I guess I might as well tell you that it’s been two days since you don’t have any sleep. The way you pronounce the “s” quite demonstrates that."  
"… the heck?"  
He laughed. That was a bit new too.  
"I’ll probably explain that one when I come back."  
"Can’t wait."  
"Sleep, John." He commanded with a very, very low voice.  
"You see, I don’t think I can, Sherlock."  
I was totally flirting with him.  
"Why not?"  
"Can’t you deduce that too? Isn’t it in the way I pronounce the “r” or something?"  
"Nope. That only tells me your sister is dating someone new, which you’re not very happy about."  
"You’re joking…"  
"Of course it’s not that which gave it away, but come on, then... What’s taking your sleep away?"  
"You come back and you’ll sure find out."  
"Oh, you’re serious about it!"  
"Course I am."  
"Very well, then."  
And that was it.  



	3. Chapter 3

The next morning I started to feel my eyelids very heavy, I was completely exhausted. I needed to sleep, I knew it, and I was actually very sleepy. But I simply couldn’t afford to do so.  
\- You don’t look very well, dear –Mrs Hudson told me when I showed up in the kitchen at seven am.  
\- I know, I’m not getting any sleep – I confessed.  
\- Is everything alright?   
She looked worried. I liked Mrs Hudson a fucking lot.  
\- Yes, all good. No need to wear the long face – I smiled but as soon as she turned her back, the smile morphed into a grimace.   
\- I got you some milk, dear – she announced.  
\- Thanks very much, you’re lovely.  
\- No need to thank me – she blushed.  
Long pause.  
\- So when’s Sherlock coming back?  
I was trying to distract myself by looking at the contents of our fridge. Boy, was Mrs Hudson a saint. She had bought more than just milk.   
The mention of Sherlock brought me back to reality. Bummer. The last thing I needed to hear.  
\- Umm, I really have no idea.  
\- It’d be good for you if he came back at once.  
I looked at her.  
\- Pardon?  
She blushed again.   
\- Well, he makes things more interesting, doesn’t he? It’s all very quiet and peaceful when he’s out.  
I now looked at the kitchen floor, a sad smile on my face.  
\- Yeah... That’s hateful, really. I’ll... text him and let him know you miss it, okay?  
\- It wouldn’t hurt to tell him you miss him too.  
I closed the fridge door with a loud noise. Mrs Hudson jumped.  
\- I’m very sorry – I said. I rushed down the stairs and out of the flat.  
She knows, I told myself. She. Fucking. Knows.  
She hadn’t said anything but her implications were clear.   
It was very cold outside. I hated winter.  
Of course she knew. After all, she was the first to ever suggest we were a couple. Old ladies tend to notice these things, for some reason. They see love everywhere. But she was so right this time. And it embarrassed me, to be honest. I felt stupid.  
I was losing it for some moron who wasn’t even there.   
When he was, I could only see him, eyes for no one or nothing else. When he wasn’t, I could only think of him, mind for no one or nothing else.  
Was this actually being in love? Or just being obsessed? It didn’t feel right, anyway.  
I hated myself so strongly as I walked down Baker Street that I was starting to step harder and harder, not even caring to check before crossing the street. Cars rushing past me.  
Come on, make me fly sky high. That would be marvelous.  
A grown up. A soldier. Acting and feeling like an emo teenager.   
When I got to Melcombe Street it hit me. I was still wearing my nighty.   
\- FUCK – Some kids ran away in various directions.  
I went back to the flat like a thunder. I was blushing terribly and ready to apologize but Mrs Hudson wasn’t there anymore. She had left a note, though.  
“YOU WENT OUT IN YOUR NIGHTY, SWEETIE. I HOPE YOU NOTICE IT SOON ENOUGH. IF YOU’RE NOT TOO ANGRY PLEASE EAT THESE. LOVE, MRS H.”  
I looked down. There were a few toasts on a plate.  
Boy I was angry. I ate the toasts anyway. Sleep deprivation: okay. Starvation: hell no.  
I’m not starving for you, you selfish bastard.  
I took the last toast and put it in my mouth but I didn’t take a bite. I rushed back to my room, grabbed my mobile phone and created a new message.  
“COME HOME AT ONCE, IF CONVENIENT”.  
Send.  
I took a bite out of the toast and sighed.  
“IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY, YOU FUCKING TIT.”  
S-  
Wait.  
Backspace, Backspace, Backspace...  
“IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY, YOU BOFFIN.”  
Nope.  
Backspace, Backspace, Backspace...  
“IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY, OKAY?”  
Fuck.  
“IF INCONVENIENT, COME ANYWAY. PLEASE.”  
Send.  
I wasn’t too pleased, but I needed to be quick so that Sherlock wouldn’t reply before I sent it.  
I sat on my bed, finished my toast and stared at the screen impatiently.  
Maybe the message was too needy? Nobody fancies needy people. Sherlock was no exception.  
Fuck.  
The newspaper with that stupidly adorable photo of him was still on the floor next to the window. I picked it up and looked into his blue eyes.  
I was so mesmerized by my friend’s face that the new message alert made me jump.  
“NOT MY FAVOURITE PHOTOGRAPH, TO BE HONEST.”  
My heart skipped a beat. I looked at my bedroom door and there he was.  
That fucking tit.  
\- SHERLOCK!  
\- JOHN! – he mocked me, eyes wide open, a stupid smile on his face and arms in the air.  
His hair was a bit wet and his eyes looked tired, maybe more than mine. I wondered if he was getting any sleep at all, not that he ever slept much anyway.  
I was so fucking tired and so shocked that to date I still don’t know how I stopped myself in time from taking those open arms as a hug invitation. That would have been just too awkward. I needed no awkward. But awkward was about to fill the room.  
He lowered his arms and kept smiling at me. I blinked a couple times before being able to speak properly.  
\- How did you do it?  
He looked bemused.   
\- How did I do what?  
\- Well, I texted you... And you’re here. Just like that? I don’t understand.  
\- Oh, there are just so many things you don’t understand, John Watson. I don’t think one more can actually kill you.  
\- But...  
\- Is everything okay?  
\- I... Yes. I’m fine. You?  
I took a few steps nearer him, still in shock. Maybe I was starting to have hallucinations.  
\- Good.  
He wouldn’t stop smiling. God, he was so beautiful. Pictures would never do him justice. They would never be enough, I realized.   
\- So... – I cleared my throat. - How did the case go?  
\- It would be best if we sat first.  
\- Umm, sure.   
I took a deep breath and followed him to our couch. He sat loudly and looked up at me. It took me a while to decide how far from him it was okay to sit.  
When I finally did, I couldn’t bear to look at him. We were just too close and I felt terrified of having an impulse.  
Sherlock broke the silence:  
\- You definitely haven’t slept since I left –he said with a low voice. I had to look. He was staring at me as if I was the most interesting dead body he had ever seen.   
\- That’s not fair.  
It wasn’t.  
\- What isn’t? – he wanted to know.  
\- You, reading me. You just got here, give me a rest. Give yourself a rest.  
\- I can’t help noticing. It’s not something I choose to do, John –he reminded me. His tone was apologetic, though.  
I was being able to hold his gaze. But I was still frightened.  
\- I know it isn’t.  
He sighed.  
\- So. No sleep. Not a blink. Why?  
\- Why? – I laughed. He had suddenly spoken very fast.  
\- You promised to tell me what was going on when I came back.  
\- Oh! Did I?  
Now you’re the fucking tit, John Watson.  
\- You don’t want to break that promise – he was wearing his puppy eyes.  
That was definitely not fair!  
\- To be honest, Sherlock, I just wanted you back.  
He looked confused for a second. I hurried to add:  
\- You know... – I cleared my throat again. - I promised that so you were more eager to come back. I’m sorry.  
He smiled mischievously.  
\- Oh, I see...  
I was back to being a dead body.   
\- So...  
Full of impossible clues.  
\- You know, John, I could just read what I need from you.  
His voice a purring sound now.  
\- You know, that, don’t you?  
I had to be an eight, at least.  
I think I was starting to squint my eyes from looking at him for so long without blinking.  
\- I do – I said.  
But no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t read me.  
I realized I was becoming a puzzle to him, just like that. And he felt frustrated not being able to figure me out. He liked clever cases, tricky ones, impossible ones. But John Watson was always so obvious. Why was it so hard now? Had he lost his ability to just observe? To see past through his best friend? That wasn’t okay. I could see all that in his eyes. I was probably reading him more that he could read me in that very moment.  
I didn’t want to break such an intense moment but my lack of sleep was destroying my nerves and it was simply impossible to handle it.  
\- I... I thought we were to talk about your case?  
Sherlock seemed to come out of the depths of his mind. He literally shook his head quickly and looked somewhere else. Somewhere as far from my eyes as possible.  
\- Yes... Yes, of course.  
It wasn’t until he came back to his normal position that I noticed he had been starting to lean closer to me.


	4. Chapter 4

There you are, making tea for the two of us. It’s nine am and your face shows no signs of tiredness. I wonder how you manage.  
And here I am, sitting on my armchair, feeling cold. Tired. Longing for the day you care the way I do. Longing to hear the words. To look at your face and read what you should be already reading on mine... I wish I could shake some understanding out of you. I wish I could just tell you and you would be okay with it. And I know it’s impossible, but I still want to try.  
\- The third Garrideb brother is visiting us today.  
\- What?  
He had caught me off guard. Talking than inner monologue directed to him. I was glad that, being the genius he was, he still couldn’t read minds. That wasn’t the first time that day I thanked heavens for that.  
\- You seriously weren’t expecting him to come to us, eventually? – he asked, disappointed.  
\- I seriously wasn’t expecting him to come on a Sunday morning, Sherlock.  
\- We can’t afford to choose when to receive clients, John. You need the money.  
I turned around to face the kitchen.  
\- I’m sorry?  
He looked amused, hands on the cup and plate he was about to bring me.  
\- I knew you wouldn’t be okay with it.  
\- What the hell do you mean by “you need the money”?   
\- It’s pretty basic. You are unemployed, you need money.  
\- And you?  
\- I don’t.  
\- I really want to take a look at that bank account someday.  
\- Whenever you want – he smiled.  
I wanted to argue really bad, but I just shut it. I looked at my feet with a miserable expression on my face and sighed.  
\- Here, drink this –he placed the plate on my hands and I took it, almost shaking.  
\- Is it poisoned? – I managed to say.  
\- Sorry, no... I can prepare another one if you want – he faced the kitchen.  
I think I smiled.  
\- You’re a tit.  
\- I think you left that pretty clear to me these last couple of months, thanks.  
\- You just don’t get it.  
I took a few sips of tea without looking at him.  
\- W—  
\- BOYS! I’m coming upstairs with a man.  
\- That would be him – Sherlock hurried to the door. - Ah! Mr John Garrideb, I presume.  
\- Mr Holmes –the tall man said lowering his head. He took a peek at me.  
Sherlock noticed that and said:  
\- John Watson, he’s with me.  
I frowned and got up to greet the man.  
\- Good morning. He means I work with him... And, well, also live.  
\- I know who you are, sir! I won’t be cheeky and say I’m a huge fan but I do read your blog. Good stuff, good stuff. Very humble man, I see.  
\- Thank you.  
He shook my hand with amazing strength it almost hurt.  
Of course, this fact didn’t escape my friend.  
\- You seem to be a very strong man.  
Our visitor looked pleased with himself.  
\- My work requires me to be, Mr Holmes. Though I won’t say I’m the strongest man in the factory, no. Some of my friends are so massive and strong they only need to be green to be a superhero.  
Sherlock looked confused. I leaned my head to the TV and it was enough for my friend to remember last night’s movie.  
\- Oh!   
I smiled.  
\- I believe you have an interesting matter you need me to help out with?  
\- Sure I do, sir. Sure I do.  
I took a notebook and a pen from the table and went to my armchair again. Sherlock sat on his and Mr John Garrideb chose a chair where he sat facing the two of us.  
His case was most interesting, thank God. I was too tired to put up with my friend being an asshole.  
Actually, he behaved so well that it felt out of character. I changed position on the armchair a thousand times as he spoke; suppose I was feeling uncomfortable with that.  
I couldn’t help taking quick peeks at him all the time and I even thought that, to my absolute horror, Mr Garrideb noticed it every time it happened.   
My whole face was red by the time the interview ended and the man shook (or actually squeezed) my hand again before saying:  
\- I really hope you can give your full attention to my problem, Mr Holmes.   
But he was looking at me when he said that.  
My friend made a weird face, and said nothing as the man left our flat in silence, a smile on his face.  
Sherlock put the chair our client had used in his original place and went to the window to take a look outside.  
\- Interesting man, John Garrideb.  
\- Indeed.  
\- Did you take many notes?  
I made my way to my notebook. I swallowed.  
\- Umm...  
\- It’s okay. I remember.  
\- I know you do.  
He suddenly was looking at me.  
\- You need to sleep.  
\- I’m okay.  
\- Are you?  
\- Not really.  
He frowned.  
\- And what is it?  
He started to step closer; I lost my ability to breathe normally.  
\- Nothing of importance.  
\- I disagree.  
\- Thanks... Sherlock, but I’m really okay.  
\- You just said you weren’t. Don’t try to trick me.  
He was being dead serious. I was not supposed to be scared but somehow my legs started to crumble.  
\- John. Bed. Now.  
I don’t know how I managed to keep it cool. I was not going to let that one pass, though.  
\- Let’s take it slower, shall we?  
I laughed. I looked at him and I just laughed, hoping he would find it funny too, but it was Sherlock so he didn’t even get it.  
\- Oh, excellent. You have the fever now.  
\- Right, the fever. Going to bed now. Laters.  
I left the living room leaving a very confused Sherlock behind. At least he got what he wanted, that fucking tit.


	5. Chapter 5

Turns out I had the fever. Funny story, huh?  
Mrs Hudson was her usual saint self and took care of me as Sherlock started to investigate the Garrideb case. She made sure I was updated with his every move, though I was completely sure he didn’t tell her everything. It all sounded so safe anyway. It was impossible the whole thing was actually that boring as he wouldn’t still be wasting time on it if that was the case.  
When Mrs Hudson couldn’t keep pretending she knew where Sherlock was, I panicked. I had finally had some proper sleep but my fever wasn’t any better and I was unable to get up and go anywhere, especially when I didn’t even know where to look for him. I instantly regretted not having taken any notes.  
So I called him.  
\- John.  
\- Sherlock, where the fuck are you?  
The sound of my voice was enough information for him not to ask but he still did:  
\- Are you alright?  
\- I feel like shit, Sherlock.  
\- Sorry to hear that.  
\- Tell me where you are.  
\- I’m on the case, John.  
\- For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, I can’t get up this bed so I won’t go any-fucking-where so just tell me.  
He sighed.  
\- You can tell Mycroft to go and...  
\- It’s not Mycroft this time.  
\- Listen, John... I’m really thankful you... care about my well-being.   
\- You don’t need to sound polite.  
\- I can’t tell you where I am.   
\- Why the fuck not?  
\- John.  
\- No, you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes.  
He sighed.


End file.
